Whatever is planted will bloom as it’s fertilized by the things that come to nourish it even when it has been pushed deep into the darkness to prevent its growth. It’s like the obscure marks upon a heart that tell a grand account although their existence can’t be seen from the outside. The lack of view makes the materials seem unimportant and yet they are so invaluable in the understanding of the direction that a narrative takes. Should a story be told, then, if what’s there doesn’t make sense or hold merit in another’s account? Beauty is a word that is defined by so many particulars that it would take thousands of books to hold all of the expressions that represent it but nonetheless it is often judged by a few pages. Should we only recognize the ones that we see and miss out on the rest as if the loveliness that flourishes all around us isn’t also worth our admiration? Grief is another term whose many angles are like the structure of a rollercoaster where we can perceive that we will plummet during the ride, but in our rush to get through the journey, we don’t notice that the weight of the world has the ability to mangle the whole system keeping us stuck in that cycle for far longer than we should be. As with all pain, we want to limit it to the path that goes directly into and then out of the weeds without the seeds of trauma attaching themselves and impeding our lives with their buds long after we have left those moments behind. There is also the idiom known as dragon and we believe in that made-up creature so much so that we love its terrorizing presence in epic tales, but we discredit its very real and menacing residence within ourselves as well as others because those specifics don’t fit what we think describes where a beast resides or what it can do. Is it possible, then, to live the life that we want, if what we hope for can only be clearly seen by showing up in the things that we don’t want for as long as it takes? It feels tricky navigating the content of our lives, but safety isn’t found in never encountering dragons or by defining our beauty through another person’s ideas on its existence or by timing out our grief because we are tired of hurting. Being home is established when we believe that we are the stories and that our details make us understandably the feature in the records that are experienced in our own hearts rather than what is fostered or blooms in someone else.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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